Table of Contents
NORTH STAR
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
T
NORTH STAR
ANGELINE BISHOP
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
ht
NORTH STAR
Copyright©2011
ANGELINE BISHOP
Cover Design by Rae Monet, Inc.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the priority written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN-13: 978-1-61935-030-4
ISBN-10: 1-61935-030-0
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
D
This novel is dedicated to the men and women
enriching the lives of young people
in our community centers.
Your guidance and advocacy
continues to repair communities,
one neighborhood at a time.
I admire your compassion,
courage, and generosity of spirit.
Acknowledgements
The path toward love can leave a person weary and disillusioned so I want to thank a few people for giving my soul shelter when I’ve struggled to live my life with purposeful direction.
To Willett, my sister, I want you to know that I realize how fortunate I am to have you in my life. God blessed me with your unconditional love so I thank you for your unwavering devotion.
To my daughters, Mil’resa and Nicole, thank you for making my life better by your sheer existence. The two of you taught me that the secret of perpetual youth is happiness. I love you with all of my heart and soul.
To My Heart Mate, you give me your deepest love, fullest commitment, and tender protection, and for that I’ll cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever.
To Sheila Smith and Tashena Doyle, thank you for assisting me when I hit one of the lowest points in my life. Both of you were my haven when life was a chaotic storm. May God continue to bless each of you and your families.
Finally, I want to thank my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. You taught me how to love life without fear or excuse. You nourished my soul in remarkable ways and I thank you for teaching me to embrace my personal power.
Love is about letting go of inflexibility and that will be challenging because you are a judgmental perfectionist. Your biggest lesson will be learning love isn’t finding the perfect person but letting a person love an imperfect you.
-Sharon Badeau Sheridan
Chapter 1
“Look at me one more time, and I swear you’ll find my bumper in your backseat!”
Caresse Aldana furrowed her brow and scowled as she sat in the same frustrating, rush-hour traffic she’d experienced yesterday, with a travel detour thrown in for good measure. Her composure shattered when a pair of male eyes leered from the rearview mirror of the car in front of her.
Her nerves teetered from normalcy to petulance as the fourth day of a heat wave and a seven-block detour made her head pound. In all of her thirty-two years, road rage had never consumed her like it had today, but this voyeur’s ogling made her afternoon commute completely intolerable.
“You should flip him the bird the next time he looks back,” her best friend, Yvette Mason, encouraged through the Bluetooth in her ear.
Caresse tapped her lilac painted fingernail on the steering wheel. “With my luck, he’d take the gesture as a come on.”
She took some cleansing breaths, pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear, and willed herself to remember the rationale for relocating to Toms River, New Jersey.
The sociable people, the proximity to the Seaside Heights shoreline, and the invigorating breeze that drifted from the river persuaded her to settle two years ago. Besides, Caresse liked how the charming town veiled a hellish past life, making the move inevitable.
I can put up with a little traffic. The sudden motion of the cars around her made her look up and notice the peering eyes again. She groaned, “I wish I could drive one of my heels right between his eyes.”
“Ooh, go ahead and start something.” Amusement bubbled in her friend’s voice. “You know my tweeters would love to read about me bailing you out of jail.”
“Yvette, please tell me you aren’t tweeting?” She frowned while surfing the XM radio channels for something resembling good music. “I’m beginning to think you have a real addiction. Just because Kim Kardashian posts a tweet every second doesn’t mean you need to.”
“I don’t tweet every second. I’m a situational tweeter,” Yvette snapped. “Besides, my Twitter and Facebook connect me to the center’s patrons. You know that.”
Yvette, a social networking junkie and managing director of the Mason Community Center, had no problem expressing her opinion about any part of her friend’s life. Caresse cringed at the thought of being the subject of a possible Twitterverse exposé while dealing with creeping traffic and a voyeuristic stranger.
“Okay, but don’t write any post about me. The idea of strangers believing I work for ‘the boss from hell’ threatens my job security.” She gave up radio surfing and impatiently examined her purse for dark chocolate.
Caresse never eased her burdens with cigarettes or alcohol—past experiences removed that last option—so chocolate had become a must. The daily dose consisted of two foil-wrapped portions, administered with or without coffee, at the first sign of exasperation. Efficacy was always immediate, so any side effect from this addiction was a small price to pay for her mental health.
“Stop worrying,” Yvette purred in a way that made Caresse wonder if she’d ever worried about living paycheck to paycheck. “Your nonexistent social life proves you’re sacrificing too much for your career.”
“My life is fine. Wonderful. I have no complaints.”
“Really? So, tell me, when was the last time someone slid under the covers of your bed?”
“What?” Caresse choked on the word, amazed at Yvette’s unpredictable nature. “How did we get on that topic?” She attempted to regain composure by pushing the AC recirculation button and rummaging her purse for chocolate. But she only uncovered her missing fountain pen and a package of mints.
“When you start stressing about some vehicular Peeping
Tom, we both know it’s because you aren’t getting any. Hell, I bet you’re even feenin’ for chocolate right now.”
Caresse laughed to cover her annoyance. Of course she wanted chocolate. Anyone would after a day of micromanaging new temps, finalizing Ms. Rogers’ ever-changing travel itinerary, and trying to locate a new corporate condominium for the partners’ approval. She believed getting out of the office would be an answered prayer until she found herself caught in traffic backed up from Main Street to Highway 37 and having her life judged by the uncrowned Twitter Queen of New Jersey.
Caresse defiantly tossed her chocolate-less purse on the seat next to her. If I can’t have chocolate, music will suffice. She began to wonder where she’d placed her latest music CD. “I’m not feenin’ for anything.” She remembered the CD in her trunk. “I only want to hear some good music, so drop it. Every woman isn’t cranky because of the lack of sex.”
“Oh sweetie, you need to realize women that are having sex on a regular basis aren’t cranky, crabby, moody, or...any the words I could use to describe you right now.”
Caresse rolled her eyes as a changing traffic light brought the cars to a halt. She opened the door of her Acura, shot her petite frame into the intense summer humidity, and retrieved the CD from her gym bag in the trunk. Happily clutching her possession, she headed for her air-conditioned emotional decompression chamber.
God, please change the subject, Caresse prayed when she saw the driver in front of her adjust his side rear mirror for a better view. He reminded her of the big, greasy guys that painted their upper torsos the color of their favorite team and tailgated in stadium parking lots. When he caught sight of her looking in his direction, he rubbed his fingers briefly over his lips and greeted her with a wolf-like smile.
Her neck tightened and bile churned her stomach. “Sicko,” she whispered into her Bluetooth when she returned to her sedan’s cabin and refastened her seatbelt.
“Yup, he is,” Yvette stated matter-of-factly. “And the only thing sickos understand is indignation. You need to give him a good New Jersey visual clue!”
“I’m a mother of two young daughters. I can’t go flipping people off, Vet.” Her mind raced with a hundred reasons to avoid aggravating anyone over something minor.
“The hell you can’t! A license to drive doesn’t mean you can leer at people and make them uncomfortable. I say keep your eyes on the road, Bucko!”
“I can’t let him tick me off.”
“Why not? Oh, is this the return of the woman that lets men walk all over her just because they can? I guess next you’ll be telling me it’s your fault he’s staring at you. How you shouldn’t have worn that outfit or—”
“Enough.” Yvette treaded on a very raw nerve. Yes, she had a past riddled with compliancy and peacemaking, but she was different now.
“Or what? You’ll start telling me some sob story about how his boorish mother deprived him from going to the prom with his pretty high school sweetheart. And now he only feels comfortable leering at attractive women from the mirrors of his car?”
“Enough!” she exploded. Leave it alone already, Vet. She breathed through clenched teeth. Without success, she willed her mind to stop mental images from the past racing into view. “I’m not that woman.”
“No? The truth is every time a man intimidates you, you revert back to the way you were with Keith—totally lacking in assertiveness.”
Caresse struggled to place the CD in her car stereo as Yvette’s biting words affected her. Her hand clumsily activated her windshield wipers. “Don’t dredge up the past. I don’t have to prove my self-esteem to you.”
“The hell you don’t!” Yvette confronted wickedly. “I’m beginning to think you need to go back and get a refund from that psychiatrist you use to visit. She turned you into some mealy-mouthed, docile lamb that vaguely resembles a grown woman.”
“You know what? Fuck you, Vet!”
She flipped the driver in front of her the bird with both hands. “And you, too!”
She unleashed a whirlwind of expletive-punctuated insults that would have made her mother gasp and clutch the pearls she wore around her neck. It was so rapid and explosive Yvette didn’t have a chance to interject a sound.
Caresse hated cursing, but when she was backed into an emotional corner, it was inevitable–she would go off like Mount Vesuvius. She wasn’t sure if living in New Jersey gave her a short fuse or if her constant skirmishes with inner demons did, but cursing out an annoying friend was exactly what her nerves needed.
At that moment, the eyes of driver in front of her widened in surprise, then narrowed ominously. He turned and gave her a penetrating glare over his shoulder. Caresse suddenly stopped and tried to pull air into her halted lungs.
The look on his face was unmistakable. He was pissed.
“Oh God!” she whispered as her shaded eyes darted around, hoping someone would help her if need be.
“So what, you cursed me out, big deal.” Yvette laughed into Caresse’s Bluetooth. “It felt good, huh? If you ask me, it’s about time. You know, all that consideration stuff you serve up gets on my last nerves.”
The angry driver in front of her kicked his door open with his foot, and he lifted his linebacker body out of the car in one quick motion. Part of her was in awe that a small Honda Civic could hold such a burly guy. The other wondered if he was capable of tossing her car and all its contents in the river beside them.
“He’s coming.”
“Who’s coming? The guy in front of you?”
“Yeah!”
“No way?”
“Now what, Einstein?”
“Hell, if I know,” Yvette mumbled.
Caresse locked her car doors and glanced around as the traffic started to move around her. Oh God! Oh God! His measured steps brought him closer to her vehicle. Do something! Do something now! Without signaling, she cut off his approach and the oncoming traffic by darting her car across the lane next to her. She felt stupid and exhilarated at the same time. Her heartbeat raced as she gunned her engine and drove quickly down a side street before turning again, out of his sight.
A few blocks away, Caresse pulled over and checked her rearview mirrors, like someone enrolled in a witness protection program. She wouldn’t release her grip of the steering wheel until an elderly couple, strolling across the crosswalk behind her, came into view. Nervous laughter roared from her body moments later. “Can you please tell me why your advice always adds unneeded drama to my life?”
“I would, but you told me to fuck off.” Yvette laughed. “I wish I was there to see your eyes budging out of your pretty little head. I started to get a little worried when you said the guy was coming. Wow, that’s the last time I push you out of your comfort zone.”
“You’re such a liar. Can we please agree the subject of Keith is off limits?”
After a long, uncomfortable silence between them, Yvette finally said, “That depends...have you heard from him?”
With caution, Caresse chose her words carefully. The mere mention of her ex’s name made her grit her teeth and frown like she smelled raw sewage. She slowly rubbed her temple and pushed her hair off her forehead. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure for a few months.” Her stomach growled as her chocolate craving surged. “Listen, I have to make a quick stop before class, so tell my students that I’ll be there soon.” Caresse pushed ‘play’ on her stereo and prayed they weren’t jinxing her lack of communication with Keith by mentioning his name.
“Okay, don’t be late.” When the sound of Mariah Carey’s voice poured into her Bluetooth, Yvette shrieked, “Is that Mariah’s latest?”
She smoothed her hair with her hand when a memory of Yvette trying to sing one of the singer’s hits at a Karaoke bar flooded her mind. “Yes, I bought it today.”
“Great! Let’s download a few songs to my iPod during closing tonight.”
“Will do. Bye.” She disconnected the call and headed toward Washington Street. Minutes later,
she was hastily entering a building for her last errand of the day.
Graham Sheridan gripped his steering wheel as Jaiden relived the events from his date last night. Once again his younger brother had woven a lie into his arsenal of manipulative seduction tactics, and now he had to work to turn his deception into a viable truth.
“I was totally on my game until I said I studied the works of Nostradamus. I don’t even know why my mouth formed the words. She sat there talking about her interest in astrology and predictions and I had been doing my best to stay attentive when the strap of her dress slipped off her shoulder. I lost focus. It was the dress, G, so stop judging and help me before she picks my brain at dinner tomorrow.”
“Why do you run from truth like it’s a plague? Is it a knee-jerk reaction, or were you punished mercilessly by Catholic nuns?” Graham joked as he drove into the library parking lot. He parked his car in farthest spot to ensure his new Mercedes wouldn’t be dented or scratched.
“The truth? The truth has nothing to do with dating these days, Big Brother. Women want the game, the chase, the—”
“Jay, you aren’t buying the stuff you’re packaging, are you?”
Jaiden stopped in mid-argument and shrugged his shoulders as he searched for a cigarette. Jaiden, a twenty-nine-year-old assistant football coach for Rutgers University, had a reputation for being a Casanova with an unshakable belief that his charm was too heaven-sent for just one woman. For him, a committed relationship required a strong dosage of nicotine to prevent a flare-up of his chauvinistic tendencies. He gave the impression that he was having the time of his life, but Graham wondered if his conquests were a cover-up to combat his absolute boredom.
“You know what I hate about dating a yoga instructor? She’s judgmental of smokers and constantly lecturing me on healthy living.”
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